


One Last Chance

by SBlackmane



Series: Unrequited [7]
Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Angst and Feels, Childhood Memories, Drinking & Talking, Drinking to Cope, Explicit Language, F/M, Rage, Repressed Memories, The Author Regrets Nothing, Will They/Wont They
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: "Logan," Walter addressed, "Former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against Albion and its people. Those who brought you to justice will now speak."The day has finally come that Adalia will forever seal the fate of the man she loves.A monumental day indeed.





	One Last Chance

     It was slow at first. Agonizingly slow.

     But then, with the break of dawn, something also broke through, like a hurricane, whipping through the castle, stirring among the residents like the wind. The discord, the unrest, the anticipation that morning. Whispers rising to a steady rumble of conversation in the people's apprehension. Before long, the gossip that spread throughout Bowerstone turned to shouting and raving in the streets. 

     On that day, Logan would be escorted to the castle to be put on trial, and he would stand before Her Majesty, for everything he had done. 

     And Adalia couldn't breathe.

     She'd struggled the night before to sleep, tossing and turning. As ruler of Albion, she now resided in the Royal chamber, and she slept in Logan's bed. _Her_ bed now, but still. Though the room had been cleaned and all the bedding changed, every trace of Logan's presence removed, replaced by the belongings of the Queen...she could still feel him there. She could still feel the weight of everything on her mind crushing her soul. 

     Dampening her spirits. Sucking the joy right out of her.

     She sobbed quietly into the pillow, as to not disturb anyone who might hear her. She cried for what seemed like hours as her mind's logic and her heart's ache warred with one another. He'd hurt her so deeply, yet...he made her feel more alive than she'd ever felt. When she kissed him it was as if the world righted itself, for just a moment, and nothing else mattered. Her mind's logic told her it was only empty, meaningless fixation, only a physical connection they shared, nothing more. But her aching heart told her something different. That in the morning, though she would kill the man the people hated, she would also kill the man she loved.

     Though she was placed upon the mantle, she was still broken, and about to sentence to death the one man in Albion that could glue her back together.

     Her heart pounded in her ears as she slowly entered the throne room, all eyes upon her, just as before, the last time she'd entered it. Though she was no longer a foolish Princess at the whim of the King's arrogance and jealousy, but the Queen herself, who decided his fate. Her steps were slow, careful, and graceful, her chin held high, serenity in her gaze, though she didn't smile. 

     This was no happy occasion, and she fought to hide the butterflies flitting madly about within her. There, also present in the throne room were her most loyal allies, including Sabine, Kalin, Page, Ben, and Walter. They planned to speak their peace as well, and hand her their argument either for or against executing Logan. 

     She was regally addressed, all rising in her presence, then watching her gingerly sit on the throne, quite rigidly. Then the morning's ardor was addressed, the accused was brought into the room, and the crowd in a righteous uproar at the sight of him. She barely heard what was said as her eyes met Logan's. His were red, bloodshot, as if he hadn't slept, or he'd been emotional, though it was well guarded behind false bravado. But she could still see it. 

     Though others saw a traitor and a murderer, a deviant, and a tyrant...she saw a man who'd been crying, who felt guilty, and ashamed, who just barely met her gaze. Others didn't see it, but she had. She saw his heart wide open, and all his fears and insecurities. She'd been the only one to ever see it, hadn't she?

     He looked so tired, so worn thin, circles under his eyes, pale skin, as if he'd been trapped in the darkness, taunted by the Crawler, a lot longer than she had. What they saw in the desert they wouldn't wish on anyone in Albion, be they heroes or traitors. And she only just realized this. That it was not what she thought it was at all. Nothing was. Everything leading up to this moment had been staged, so perfectly, and she questioned it all.

     "Logan," Walter addressed, "Former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against Albion and its people. Those who brought you to justice will now speak." 

     He gestured to Adalia's allies, then one by one they said their peace. All the while, Logan's grim expression never wavering.

     "There is not a soul alive in the kingdom who hasn't suffered for his glory," argued Sabine, shaking his fist, winding up the audience. "And plenty who have died for it. I says, let him have some death of his own."

     Ben turned to her. "Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off, but we saw Major Swift executed like it was a bloody circus act! He deserves nothing less, as far as I'm concerned."

     "But aren't we better than that?" Page asked, grabbing Adalia's attention for a moment. The voice of reason. "Isn't that why we fought to be here now? I've seen what Logan has done to this city. People starving to death, children forced to work...but killing him now won't solve anything."

     But a lot of people would sleep better at night, wouldn't they?

     "It is not my place to decide his fate," Kalin relented. "But his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation, and then left us to face the darkness alone."

     "I had good reason to break that promise," Logan said evenly beside Walter, glancing at Adalia for a split second. "And I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed. The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer." At those words, Adalia leaned forward in her seat. "Theresa. Our father's guide. She showed me the future of this kingdom. The darkness in Aurora is coming here, bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life," he said with a dire tone. "The sacrifices I had to make, I did them to protect Albion. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country."

     There was an uproar of mixed emotions from the audience at this admittance.

     "I have spent years preparing for the attack," he told them, then he stepped toward Adalia, making Walter reach for his arm to hold him back, in case he tried anything stupid. "Let me stand by your side now, and all my soldiers will be yours to command," he pleaded with her. "Let us face the coming darkness together."

     "If this is true..." Walter turned to her. "If it's really coming here...then we're all in grave danger," he warned. 

     There was a long moment of silence between them to follow those words, drowned only by the baited crowd, anxious for Adalia's decision. The silence broken by Logan's grave words.

     "You have the power over life and death," he said solemnly. "Make your choice." So quiet, that no one else heard. No one else was paying attention, for all eyes were fixed on her, and the crowd called for his head. She sat back in her throne, stewing over this information. Theresa had given him a vision of this? That the Crawler would come to Albion? And this was why he tore himself and his people down? To raise up an army to defeat it? And this burden was now hers to bear? Could it really be true?

     _'This isn't about revenge, Adalia.'_

     Those were Theresa's words. 

     "This is not the time for revenge," she told everyone as she rose to her feet. She spoke in a confident tone, masking her emotions, silencing the crowd, the apprehension thick like moisture in the air. "We need your help, Logan. You have your freedom." 

* * *

     Logan's heart stopped. 

     "The Queen has spoken," Walter informed the crowd. "Logan's life will be spared."

     She...she let him _live_? He blinked. No, he wasn't dreaming. She was really standing there, sparing his life, and he was frozen in place, having no idea what her expression meant just then. It was blank, and a complete mystery to him, those golden eyes of hers quite dim, and incomprehensible...And the crowd went mad. Completely mad. No one was pleased with this judgement, and her eyes darted around the room for a moment, assessing them, anger slowly rising within her. Logan could see her fire blazing.

     "Is this how Albion responds to my judgement?!" she bellowed, and once more the crowd grew deathly quiet. "Is this the respect it gives its Queen?! _I am not my brother!"_ she fumed, frightening the people for a moment, admittedly, frightening Logan as well. He'd never seen this side of her before. "Does my kingdom only lust for blood?!...Has not enough blood been shed in the streets, enough lives lost because of Logan's rule?! Is this the world we are leaving to our children?! Where concepts such as kindness...mercy... _forgiveness_...are dead?" 

     She grew quieter, looking around the room at the humbled people. 

     "Is this the world I leave to my daughter?" She asked, as she held back tears. 

     She...had a daughter?! 

     "...A world without hope?...Because that is what Albion will become. It starts here. It starts now. No more lives lost, taken needlessly. No more." She shook her head. "No more," she said quieter. "Court is dismissed for the remainder of the day. Everyone return to your homes, and your duties. We have a lot of work to do."

     "Your Majesty," Walter bowed, along with everyone else present, slowly making their way from the throne room. Logan was still frozen there, captivated by this side of Adalia, such conviction that she possessed. Then he turned to leave as well when he heard her speak.

     "Logan," she said behind him, and he turned. "If I might speak with you."

     "Of course, Your Majesty," he humbly addressed, turning back to her. Heart pounding wildly in his ears at the sight of her, and curiosity that she had a child. How old was she? How did he not know of her?...Was she... _his_?

     "I would like for you to remain in Bowerstone," Adalia informed him, folding her arms behind her back, standing as rigidly as he. "You won't be serving a sentance in Bowerstone's jail. I want you here at the castle. I'd like to be able to keep an eye on you. As well as Walter and I will need your military experience in the days to come. While we were busy fighting one another, we suffered significant losses on both sides, and what we will face...I want to be prepared."

     "Of course," he nodded. "If you like, I will remain at your disposal."

     "That was a request, Logan, not a demand," she said carefully. Hesitant. "I spared you today because I need you; this is your pardon, but..." The familiar look of uncertainty that he remembered now flooding her angelic features.

     "It doesn't matter. It is a request from my Queen, whom I will not disobey." He bowed deeply. 

     "Do you mean to mock me?" she asked, taking offense to his words. "Because it was I who disobeyed you, that sent us on this path? And now you mean to throw it in my face?"

     "I was not mocking you, Adalia. I-"

     "Do not address me so informally," she cut him off with disdain before straightening her posture before him. "Should you choose to stay, I will see that my old chamber is cleaned and furnished for you. You can stay there. And I will call upon you, should I need your advice or assistance." 

     "Yes, Your Majesty," he said, biting back the malicious words that came to mind at her sudden superiority, now that she was Queen, through clenched teeth. "My Queen," he quickly addressed, when she walked past him, making her turn, slightly frustrated that he should lengthen conversation. "You...said once that you would never forgive me for what I did to you."

     "I remember," she nodded grimly. "And you said, 'Good. Then you will never forget'. Well, I haven't. And I can't. The faces of those you took from me are there when I close my eyes. I couldn't kill you, but I can't forgive you either. You can't expect that so easily."

     "I don't ask for your forgiveness. Only a chance to make up for my wrongs."

     She sighed. "You've had so many, Logan," she said, shaking her head. "And you didn't take a single one."

     "One last chance. That's all I ask for."  

     She shook her head again, as if she could hardly believe he would ask that of her, then walked briskly from the room. 

     Gods. He didn't know what he wanted more. To strangle her, or fuck her. Or both? Maybe? The mixture of emotions that welled within him just then seemed to largely contrast one another, and yet, they seemed to go hand in hand.

     The moment she gave him his life, he decided right then and there he'd spend the rest of said life making up for what he'd done to her. He'd crawl on his hands and knees for her, though more in a metaphorical sense than literally...But with those brief words shared between the two, it seemed evident he would also suffer for what he'd done to her. There might have been attraction between them still, and history, but there was no love for him, was there? She hated him. She didn't want to feel anything for him at all, and fought against it. He didn't blame her, he supposed.

     She was going to make things difficult, and he deserved it.

     And she was met in the hall by a servant girl, coming up the steps from the entrance, holding a child, with soft chesnut curls...and those eyes...

     Logan's heart dropped to his feet.

* * *

     Adalia stood in the war room that night, leaning against the ornate map of Albion, the very same her 'brother' had often contemplated over, resting her head in one hand, as with the other, she cupped a glass of brandy, swishing it around as she rehashed the day in her head.

     Gods, she was so stupid. 

     That day would be only the first of many hard days as ruler of a nation, and already she was sick of it. 

     After Logan's trial, and pardoning, and her attempt at remaining aloof, and not giving in and rushing into his arms, throwing herself at him like a fool, she had other duties that called to her attention that made her want to crawl inside a hole and never come out. The first thing to alarm her was walking into an all but empty treasury. 

     The Crown was nearly broke. 

     It was understandable as to why, but it was no less disturbing to actually be given access to the treasury's ledger and see for herself how much in debt the Royal family would be in the foreseeable future. And hearing the nasally tone of a man named Hobson, who was appointed her assistant, as Jasper was otherwise occupied with maintaining the Sanctuary. His name sound too much like Hobbes, which automatically gained him disfavor from the Queen. And such a greedy, brown nosing little twinkle he possessed in his eyes. He gave her a headache as he explained the royal finances.

     But she had been given another vision from Theresa. Logan spoke truth. The Crawler _was_ coming to Albion, and she had but a year to prepare for its attack. Logan would never have had defeated it on his own, even with the formidable army he amassed, but with a Hero on the throne, Albion had a fighting chance. That was why the Seeress waited so long to divulge this information. For Adalia had been little more than a child when she left Bowerstone castle, but now she was stronger, in both mind and body, with loyal allies and the Crown. She was in control, and she had the power to make a difference.

     Provided she secured the proper finances.

     It was a lot of money. A lot. The gold she needed to secure was in the millions, and she had maybe four hundred thousand, not including subracting the back taxes she would owe the citizens if she lowered Logan's previous tax rate. She had poured over the financial records kept in Logan's war room, hidden in his desk, and at the rate he'd been going he might have done it, but he would have had to strip every cent from Albion, and many citizens would have lost their civil liberties, their rights as human beings. But this was why he allowed child labor, and he allowed Reaver to run the type of industry he ran. And to think, Logan had years to prepare, while Adalia only had one.

     One year. Just one, to not only undo the damage he'd done to the people of Albion, but somehow protect them. Was there enough time? 

     It seemed she had no choice but to let things unfold how they did. Even if Logan had kept his promise and returned to Aurora with an army, he would've lost, and eventually Albion would have suffered as well. The Crawler was too powerful. But since he chose instead to remain in Bowerstone and prepare for the eventuality of the darkness reaching Albion's shores, the Crawler had only grown stronger over the years. Even if he'd told her the truth from the start, it would have changed little. And it seemed likely that even her survival was a miracle, indebted to her Heroic willpower, and Aurora's healers. 

     But it seemed she was meant to do what he would be unable to. As a Hero, she had a chance. Just one. And she was Albion's last chance.

     She was now in control, and she was given an ultimatum. Forego her plans to rebuild her country in favor of preparing for the attack; do as Logan had done, and drain Albion dry of coin to fund further military projects. Or...she could keep her promises, and fail to protect her subjects. 

     She was warned that if she kept the promises made to her allies, it would come at great cost to the people in the long run. Yes, abolishing child labor, building schools, rebuilding the academy in Brightwall, rebuilding the Old Quarter, restoring the original royal guard with fair wages, for them, as well as Industrial workers, maintaining shelters and commons, ensuring the citizens had food, clean water, all the things she intended to do, even helping Sabine get his land back...All of it cost money. Money she didn't have. At least not in the treasury.

     She'd done the math, and poured over her own expenses. She had some personal wealth she kept in the Sanctuary, which she fully intended to transfer to the Royal treasury, but would it be enough in the days to come? At the current rate, she estimated making many sacrifices, and still then only breaking even.

     There was also the option of going back on her word, she had been informed. If she chose, she could break the promises she made to the people of Albion, in order to protect them. But she would turn her kingdom against her, just like Logan did. There was no way to make the people understand just why she struggled with this. There was no way to make them understand what they'd been sacrificing, all these years, and why. All she'd accomplish would be to start a country wide panic, if she were to inform them of the attack in one year. And in what world would they not think her a madwoman?

     After all, they thought her mad for letting Logan live. Gods, she understood now. She understood exactly how Logan must've felt for the last five years. Suddenly, it all made sense.

     So there she was, at ten o'clock that night, her first day as Queen, in the war room, after Lydia was put to bed, drink in hand. She'd...well, she'd never drank alcohol before. This was her first, and she needed it, boy did she ever. Her mind was in tangles, and she simply couldn't unwind it all. And tomorrow would be no better. Tomorrow she would discuss with Hobson the matter of taxes, make a decision of what to do with the Old Quarter, and meet face to face with none other than Reaver. The other person in Albion she hated. But Logan had a good reason. What was Reaver's excuse? At any rate, there were many of his business ventures that needed dealt with.

     What she wouldn't give to be able to put him completely out of business, but the jobs that would be lost, the people put out of work, if she were to do that, kept her at bay. She needed his business, as well as countless others, and their taxes. She came to realize just why the people of Albion suffered so much. Of course, she fully intended to bring him down a peg or two at least. Bare minimum, she'd get some respect from him as his Queen.

     She downed the brandy in hand, coughing afterwards, teary eyed from the harshness of it, but after it settled, it seemed to dull some of the discomfort. 

     Though there were things in the back of her mind that she simply couldn't recover from. Swift had been needlessly executed for 'turning Logan's soldiers against him', the former King had proclaimed. True, that Swift had been aiding the Resistance, but was his death really necessary? Even if Swift had tried and true committed treason? Would not imprisonment have sufficed? When men like Swift would be needed now. But Logan wanted loyalty from his subjects. Better yet, he demanded it. Utmost loyalty and obedience. He believed it necessary for their survival. An uprising only accomplished two things. More people died, and Adalia was now Queen. 

     But what about Elliot? Her poor sweet Elliot? He didn't deserve to die. What was Logan's excuse? Other than to teach her that sacrifices had to be made? Nothing in this world is obtained without sacrifice, he had said, and he told her he sacrificed everything. But he murdered Elliot, and those innocent people, all to make an example of her. 

     One day, Logan would answer for that, but it wouldn't be today. Not if his soldiers, and his experience, could aid them. Other than her, and Walter, he'd been the only one in Albion to see first hand what waited in Aurora and live through it. Oh, but of course, there was also the matter of ensuring Aurora's protection, and induction into the kingdom of Albion. She had that to nag at her thoughts as well. But regardless, there were things that Logan did that just didn't seem right, no matter how she looked at them. Things he had done, that couldn't be excused, things he had seen...They wracked about inside her brain, rattling like so many...

     Well, so many broken little toys, needing fixed.

     How did he survive his experience in Aurora? She asked herself that repeatedly. Just how could he, when she and Walter barely survived it themselves?

     There was a knock on the door, and she turned when it opened. It couldn't be Hobson, for he'd retired for the day. She expected it to be Walter, or Ben maybe, even Page, but it wasn't them. She turned to see the former King of Albion entering the war room, closing the door quietly behind him.

* * *

     He couldn't stay away from her. Though he certainly tried. The throne was hers, and he was relieved to no longer be required to sit on it, and bear the heavy weight on his shoulders. For the time being, he could rest easy, knowing that no one in Bowerstone would harm him, under the Queen's decree. He'd seen to his men, ensured their release from captivity, their loyalty to the Crown, and their alliance with Her Majesty's forces, formerly the Resistance, but now, more or less, the appointed Royal Guard. Then he'd seen to his things, settled into his new quarters, Adalia's old room, and he made himself comfortable.

     The days he'd spent in jail curbed his drinking habit, and though he was miserable at first, as his body paid the toll, he felt better afterwords. Felt brand new. Alive. And now he cherished that feeling. Thanked the Gods for the breaths he took that day. And thanked his beautiful Queen.

     But everywhere he looked in Bowerstone, there was a memory. Slowly, bit by bit, day by day, they had come back to him, without a bottle of brandy to shove them down, or Kingly duties to distract him. And now that he was no longer burdened with monarchy, he was free to drown in his memories, life in the castle before he was King. Before he ever set foot on the sands of Aurora, and learned of the danger waiting in its shadows. He felt like he could breathe again, but it frightened him, for some reason.

     So forcefully were his past regrets shoved down his throat now.

     Then he walked down the hall, just earlier in the eve, and heard a child's laughter, slowly wafting through the corridor. He saw a flash of brown hair run past him, followed by a nursemaid, chasing the toddler as she made her grand escape, cackling as bare feet padded the carpet. Adalia, perhaps? A memory of when she was young coming back to haunt him?

     No. Adalia's daughter, he realized, and did a double take as he saw her run past. Queen Adalia had a daughter. One who looked just like her, with a frightening resemblance, save for one thing. Her eyes. They didn't quite look like Adalia's. Different. Darker. And his heart faltered when the child ran right by, down the hall, and he stood there for a moment, unable to move.

     He couldn't stay away from Adalia. There were things he needed to know, questions he needed to ask, that he was almost afraid to know the answers to.

     She was still awake, in the war room, leaning over the map of Albion, glass in hand, dressed regally, her boyishly short hair hanging down in her face as she leaned over. Waves of it hiding her eyes, before she looked up. The crown atop her head that morning was absent, and instead set on the desk nearby. Heavy already? Had the truth burdened her that much so soon? For a moment, she looked like him, on the many nights he stayed up far too late, with furrowed brow, and worried heart. Just what had she seen in that desolate wasteland beyond the sea?

     "I see my guards just let you in here," she noted, as he approached, walking slowly, solemnly, hands folded at attention behind his back.

     "I believe they are convinced that the skilled Hero of Albion does not need protecting from me. That it's rather the opposite. That I am the one who should be afraid of _you_ , Your Majesty."

     She pursed her lips, then turned away from him, gliding over to the desk, uncorking the bottle of brandy, and started to pour him a glass.

     "Drink?" she asked, but he declined.

     "I stopped drinking," he said.

     "Did you?" she asked, and he nodded. "And it seems I've started, haven't I? So where have you been hiding all day?"

     "Away from anyone and everyone," he quipped, making her huff, as he walked over to the map, running his hand along the edge of it in a manner that was familiar to him. The words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue. He heard her cough behind him. She wasn't one for drinking was she? Never had a need to drown her sorrows until now? Or was it his presence that made her uncomfortable? 

     "So what's your plan, if I may ask?" he inquired, not really expecting an answer, just making conversation really, but she gave him one, the brandy loosening her tongue a little.

     "I honestly don't know where to start," she said. "I've been going over the royal finances, as well as my own, doing some arithmatic, and quite truthfully, if we are to be fully prepared for an invasion..." 

     "Sacrifices will have to be made," he noted, as he turned to face her. "And so the torch is passed on." 

     "I won't lie, I'm beginning to understand a lot now," she admitted. "Not everything, but a lot."

     "Your own finances, you say?" he asked. "What, so you have some secret inheritance locked in a vault somewhere?"

     She snorted. "No. Nothing like that. But I have money. I had to work to provide for myself and my child when I left Bowerstone. No 'spoiled, comfy Princess living' for me. I no longer had you or anyone else taking care of me. So yes, I worked."

     "And just what did you do for a living?"

     She shrugged. "I was a baker." He bit back a smile, and a sarcastic remark. "Oh I was horrible at first, it's true, but I've been told that I bake the best blueberry pie in all of Mistpeak."

     "Impressive." 

     "Go ahead, laugh. But that was only the start. I made some investments along the way. I became quite the businesswoman since I left. No more pretty gowns, trinkets, and fine dining for me, but instead I have money of my own. Enough to break even at least. Amending your tax policy will set us back, I'm afraid. My own coffers will have to cover the difference."

     "So even though you know what's at stake...Even though you understand, as you said, you still believe giving in to their demands will somehow benefit them, Your Majesty?"

     She scoffed. 

     "Deny my reasoning if you want, Logan, but I didn't get on the throne by promising the people of Albion I would be no better than you. What am I to tell them, hmm? That I plan to do just as you did, and strip them of their livelihood? I can't very well tell them the truth, and you know that. Who would believe us, Logan? We are but mad, and deranged, aren't we? Claiming that some demon comes from faraway to take everything from us?"

     He sighed. "I am the last to argue that, darling."

     She cast him a sideways glance at the way he endeared her so, and then thumbed the edge of her glass. She drank it quickly, then poured herself yet another. 

     "You might want to slow down on those," he warned, but she only glared, as if daring him to stop her. He chuckled. "If anyone can fix this country, and protect it, I believe it is you."

     "You really do?" He nodded at her words. 

     "Strong, smart, and stubborn. Like me. But you are everything I could never be, and more, I assure you."

     She bit her lip, as if pondering what to say, but then she simply stared at her feet, blushing at his praise of her.

     "I never knew you had a daughter," he finally said, changing the subject. 

     "That's because I took great care to make sure you didn't," she said. "The last thing I needed was for her to be dragged into this mess between us. This conflict. This war. I didn't want you finding out about her, and hanging her over my head. Taking her hostage. Using her as a pawn to get to me."

     "Do you really believe I would do such a thing?"

     "I didn't want to take the chance," she admitted.

     "I would _never_ do that to you," he assured her, in all sincerity. "And I would never do that to her. Particularly since she's my dau-"

     "Don't you dare!" she snapped, slamming her glass to the floor, causing it to shatter, startling him, breaking the fragile air of calm between them. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Logan! If you do, I swear I will end you!"

     "Do you think I would be so oblivious as to not see it?" he asked calmly, as she stepped closer, glaring daggers at him. "That she's not just my neice, Adalia, but my own sired offspring? At the exact age our child would be? And at no point did you see fit to tell me?"

     "It doesn't matter," she scathed. "She is not, nor will she ever be yours."

     That hurt. More deeply than she could possibly understand. 

     "Your Majesty," he pleaded quietly, broiling with anger in that instant, struggling to contain it. "Adalia-"

     "Her father is dead," she interrupted. "His name is _Elliot_. You had him executed, that day in the throne room, when you forced me to choose between him and those protesters, Logan. Elliot is dead, all because you wanted to prove a point. Lydia's father is dead."

     "You and I both know that is a lie," he said. "You would dare pin her on that sniveling little-"

     _Smack_!

     She hit him so hard across the face he saw stars. He stumbled back a step, caught by the map, pinned against it. He felt like he'd been hit by a sledgehammer. She didn't know her own strength. He rubbed his jaw, then curled his hands into fists. Wanting desperately to lash out, but what good would it do? What would he accomplish? Other than land himself back in Bowerstone jail?

     "Adalia, don't do this to me-"

     "I can and I will," she barked. "You want to earn my forgiveness? You can start by staying far away from my child, Logan. Or so help me, I will go back on our agreement, and put you out in the yard before the firing squad."

     "Adalia-"

     " _Your Majesty_ ," she heatedly corrected. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Logan, and you'd do well to remember that. You wanted a chance. This is it. This is your _last_ chance, I'm warning you. What you do next will determine what I do next. I dare you to say yet another cross word! You have the power over life and death," she mocked his tone of voice, "Your own life, Logan, and your own death. Now make your choice!"

     "You should have shot me that night," he bit out angrily in her face. "It would've hurt less... _Your Majesty_."

     He slid out from between her and the map and walked briskly to the door, wrenching it open, then slamming it shut behind him. He paused, and heard something smash against the door and break, a hard 'thud' to follow. Then he heard one of the guards out in the hall snort a little. It wasn't probable that they heard the conversation had, verbatim, but they saw the former King, the Duke of Albion, get chased out of the war room by Her Highness. They seemed thoroughly amused by the affair. He squared his shoulders, and primly adjusted his collar, then crossed the study and stepped out into the hall.

     "A word of advice, gentlemen: Never piss off the Queen," he said smoothly, then walked away. 

* * *

     Adalia was so mad she was seeing red.

     And instantly she felt remorse. She had sounded _just like him_. She sunk to the floor and hung her head in her hands. Why had she gotten so angry? Why didn't she just talk to him? Listen to what he had to say, and come to some sort of understanding? It wasn't like anything she said or did would bring Elliot back, but...Gods, she was never drinking again. She was certain that's what caused it. Alcohol made her brash, irrational, and lash out. Bad thing to consume when she was stressed, and emotional. But what Logan called Elliot. That struck a nerve. He had no right.

     Oh, what good did it do to stay angry at him? It didn't change a damned thing, did it? All it did was hurt her, even more. And Logan? Why, he hardly reacted at all to her strike. Which made her feel worse. That he simply let her beat him, like a dog, without protest. She felt awful for that. She felt like...well, she felt like _she_ was the tyrant, for a moment. She would've preferred him retaliating, but no. He didn't. He just let her strike him mercilessly, hard enough to leave a mark, and threaten his life just like he did to others.

     She sniffed back the tears that bordered on release, and stood up, straightening her royal attire. She put things back where they were, and absently picked up shards of glass strewn about, letting out a yelp when one of them cut her hand. She cursed and sniffed, then dropped the shard, watching as her blood stained the carpet. Madness. This was madness. It had to be. The whole of it, from start to end, was maddening.

     She made it to her chamber and dressed down for the night, bandaging her hand as she sat on the bed. Then she stepped quietly into Lydia's nursery, and watched her sleeping in her crib. Dreaming peacefully, even smiling a little at the corner of her mouth. Having not a single clue of the dangers of the world. So innocent. So pure. So full of light and life. It wasn't fair to her. She shouldn't have to pay for her parents' mistakes. Pay for their sins. The new Princess of Albion was not to blame for anything wrong with the world. Not to blame at all.

     Adalia sighed. She'd have to do it. She'd have to talk to him. Now that she wasn't angry, and perhaps now that he'd been given some time to calm down as well. Right now, that instant, before she forgot what she meant to say, and just how she planned to say it. She rehearsed the words in her head as she crept quietly down the hall, nodding as the guards she passed bowed reverently in her presence. She repeated over and over what she would say to him. She would make good and damned sure that they fixed this. That they ended once and for all just what was between them. For the sake of Albion. And...

     Well, for their daughter's sake.

     She debated upon whether to knock on the door or just walk right in, nervously running her fingers through her hair in the process. He was probably already asleep, wasn't he? At this time of night? Though...she had trouble sleeping, as of late, her terrible dreams keeping her awake, and likely he suffered the same? Because of what happened to them in the desert? Or did he sleep better now that he was pardoned, and no longer carried the weight of the Crown? She settled on walking right in, but found the room to be empty. Though the back door that led to the garden was open. Very curious of a thing.

     She crossed the floor and peered out the door, seeing him further down, on the next landing. Shirtless, and barefoot, leaning over the bannister, looking out over the garden. It looked so eerie at night, always had, beautiful in its way, but with the dark clouds in the distance, and the foreboding future ahead, it seemed too ominous that night. Slowly she descended the steps to join him on the landing. He didn't notice her right away, too lost in thought, visibly disturbed, Gods only knew precisely why, but she could think of a few reasons. She 'ahemed', and he turned his head a little, finally noticing her. When he turned around completely to face her, the first thing he noticed was her hand.

     How odd, to see him so concerned then, to see naught but care in his eyes, and all previous thoughts escaped her. She forgot what she meant to say.

     "What in Avo's name happened to your hand?" he asked her, coming to inspect it. She felt awkward, as he grabbed her hand and held it up, gingerly running his thumb across the bandage.

     "I was picking up the broken glass in the war room, and-"

     "There are servants for that," he said, furrowing his brow. She sighed.

     "I got used to doing things myself," she shrugged, "And, I wasn't thinking. My hand slipped. I've had worse. Done worse. After all, while waiting for Lydia to be born, I wasn't a Princess, wasn't a Hero, I was just...a baker from Brightwall. It happens."

     They locked eyes for a moment. He let go of her hand.

     "Your father was a beggar, before he was King," he remarked. "And you were a baker." _Her_ father? So it was settled? He truly didn't believe he was family then? He turned away from her, and resumed leaning against the bannister, hunching over, resting his elbows on it. "Like father like daughter," she heard him say quietly. 

     "We have to stop this Logan," she mustered up the courage to say. He glanced at her.

     "Stop what, exactly?"

     "This," she persisted. "This...whatever this is between us. Whatever it is that makes me hate you, and...love you, Logan. This thing we keep coming back to." 

     "You love me still?"

     "It has to end. All of it. We have to put it all behind us. I...have to put it behind me. The past, this... _thing_ we have with one another, whatever you want to call it. The war is over, but you and I are still fighting. All because of something that should never have happened. It was wrong, you and I both know that. I need you with me, Logan. Like you said, we must protect Albion together. But we cannot do it if we don't move on...from one another."

     He sighed. "You don't understand, do you?" he asked. But before she could make a reply, he continued, "When you spared me this morning, I knew then that I would spend the rest of my life at your mercy, whatever it took, to amend my mistakes. I knew you would make me pay for the ways in which I hurt you. I broke your heart, my Queen, and for that I owe you everything." He turned to face her, leaning back against the rail, looking quite defeated. "But don't pretend that what we share can end so easily, darling. Don't pretend to be so...cold. Don't...don't be like _me_. I know you saw it, I see it in your eyes. Don't let the darkness waiting out there turn you into me. I beg of you."

     "Logan-"

     "Let me love you, Adalia," he pleaded, approaching her, reaching out for her, but she backed away. "We were strangers once, and that was my mistake. But before that, we were...were..."

     "Family?" she opted for, but he shook his head.

     "Something better. Something siblings rarely share. Friendship. We were _friends_ , darling. We were inseparable. And I remember it. You came to me with your troubles, and I you. I kept no secrets from you."

     "That was a long time ago."

     "Yes, it was, and we were only children, but that does not mean it should be forgotten, should it? Give me a chance. Just one. That is all I ask. A chance to start over. Let me get that back, my Queen. I am at your mercy."

     She sighed, and then chewed her lip, mulling it over, hugging herself to fight the chill. He didn't touch her. He seemed to sense she didn't want the contact, and kept his distance. But still, he stared into her eyes, begging her for a chance with his own. 

     "One last chance, Logan. That's all you get."

     "That's all I need, Your Majesty."

**Author's Note:**

> (Well, there you have it folks. So, this is the last part of the series that was prewritten, and so from here on out it will continue to be a work in progress. So I do apologize if the last three installments are lengthy in delay. And yes, it was preconceived that there would be ten works in this series, if that gives you any idea of what to expect from this project. Hope you guys are still enjoying this series, and thanks for all the comments and kudos)


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